Benjamyn watched all in stupefied horror. He felt no pity nor compunction for Lucan, but there was no denying it was an awful death.

  He had seen many horrors in the jungle when he had first ventured here as a young man. Those horrors had left their mark, but he had been determined never to let that leave a stain on his family or daughter.

  But he had never seen anything quite so disturbing as his captor’s death. Lucan shrivelled beneath the bite of the… thing. It was a horror of chimerical impossibilities. It looked like every form amalgamated into one, a thing that loathed even itself.

  He closed his eyes in the final stages. Lucan’s face had sloughed and melted, the eyes rolling into the skull. The dreadfulness of the sound that left his mouth was harder to block out, however. Ben would never forget that so long as he lived—which was not likely to be long now.

  He tried to roll over, but he had been strapped to the gurney. His one good hand was tied with several knots to the handle, and he had already worn the skin raw with his attempts to free himself. He lacked the strength to break his own wrist, or he would have done so long ago and fled into the night. Or rather, he would have crawled into the night—he lacked a foot as well as an arm.

  The sounds ceased, and he opened his eyes again. The man now stood in human form again. Lucan was nowhere to be seen. Only a pile of robes remained. The man picked them up, and rubbed them against his cheek. Then he knelt and wailed.

  This was worse for Benjamyn. It implied a deep and abiding madness, and madness was frightening to Benjamyn for he had seen it take too many good people.

  He struggled with his bonds again but could not loose them. He gritted his few remaining teeth against the wailing and waited.

  At last, when the man was done, he stood. He walked over to Benjamyn and looked down at him.

  He was just as frightening in human form. The eyes were insane. They were the eyes of a God who’d lost their mind. They were the eyes you saw before the spirits of hell took your soul to the Underworld.

  Benjamyn had never believed in the Underworld, until now.

  The man knelt over Benjamyn, studying him. Was there pity in his expression? Or was it more curiosity, the curiosity a scientist might show for a unique type of beetle?

  “What is your name?” the man whispered.

  He thought about not answering, but what was the point in that? He was going to die, and he had not spoken to anyone meaningfully in years. Only the Governor, with his questions, his interrogations, his games.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Benjamyn,” he said.

  The man smiled.

  “My name is Koronzon Hammyr. But most called me The Warden.” A sadness caused his features to almost literally change, drooping and sagging. “That was who I once was, at least. A piece of him remains, tucked deep inside… But it is getting harder and harder for him to speak.”

  Benjamyn thought he knew that feeling. In order to resist and survive Lucan’s torture, he had needed to push who he really was deep, deep down, where the Governor could never find it.

  The Warden was inspecting Benjamyn’s wounds.

  “My brother tortured you, it seems.”

  The revelation this man was Lucan’s brother would have been shocking, if what Benjamyn had just witnessed was not still playing before his mind’s eyes, burning away all else.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “He has been most cruel with you, it seems. But I cannot judge him, for I have done the same. We all do dark things for different reasons. I committed my sins in the name of Order. My brother, in the name of Power.” A warped smile crossed The Warden’s face. “Do not deny it, Lucan. Do not deny it…”

  Benjamyn felt his heart thundering, the cold sweat covering his emaciated body. Let me die, he suddenly thought. Just let this be the end. Make it quick. I can stomach no more horror. I shall see my daughter in the next life…

  But The Warden was cocking his head, as though listening intently to Benjamyn’s train of thought.

  “You have something to live for, or you would not have lived so long, endured so much. In your present condition, it is unlikely you shall ever reach it. But I… I might grant you your strength again. The gift of the Daimon. It is within my power now. I am… unique.”

  That word sent chills down Benjamyn’s spine. Still, the offer did not fall on deaf ears. The gift of a Daimon? Would that mean he could change his form at will, like The Warden? He would be able to heal his wounds, find Ylia… But there was a catch, surely. Benjamyn knew there was always a catch. That is why he had turned away from the gifts of the Shadow Market. That was why he had come home. The price was not worth the power.

  He looked The Warden in the eye.

  “No.”

  The Warden stared at him. Then, he smiled.

  “You have an iron will. Even now, though your body is broken, your will remains unshaken. I can admire that in a man. I shall not take from you your free will.”

  The Warden rose.

  “I shall free you from this gurney. There is food in this settlement. How long you survive is up to you. I head now to the Shadow Market to fulfill my destiny. I doubt I shall ever come here, again. But should you ever change your mind, and wish to accept my gift, then come to the Holy City of Uth, where the Hideous Towers rise—renewed in splendour! There, I shall welcome you as a friend. Goodbye, Benjamyn.”

  With a single motion of his hand—as fingernails turned into talons—The Warden undid his bonds. Then, he rose, and—morphing even as he ran—became one with the shadows of Memory.